How Do You Read It?

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As I was reading in Luke earlier this week, I came across a question Jesus asked a Pharisee and it struck me: “How do you read it?” (Luke 10:26, NIV)

How do you read it?

There are many times I don’t understand something, many times I am looking for answers. Have you ever noticed, though, how often Jesus answered a question with a question, rather than a direct answer?

What do you think, Rhonda? How do you understand it?

The Pharisee responded to Jesus, quoting from scripture. He responded with an answer, with the right answer. And Jesus affirmed that answer. But the Pharisee wasn’t satisfied to leave it where it was. Instead, knowing the answer, knowing that he had known the right scripture to answer the question, Luke tells us that “he wanted to justify himself” (Luke 10:29, NIV).

He wanted to justify himself.

The entire exchange had started out as a test for Jesus. The Pharisees, teachers of the law and the religious big wigs in the Jewish culture at the time, constantly tested Jesus because they didn’t—didn’t want to—believe that he was the Messiah. Their idea of the prophesied Messiah was quite different from who Jesus proved to be; they wanted a king, a military man who would rescue them from the Romans. While their prophecies did seem to predict two Messiahs—one kingly, one suffering—they were looking for the King, never suspecting that the two might be one and the same. So they constantly tested him, tried to trap him in what he said, tried to watch and somehow prove that he was not a messenger from God, not the Messiah they had been waiting for.

Isn’t that the way it goes for us, so many times?

Jesus—let alone God, for that matter—doesn’t measure up to our expectations of who, or what, Jesus or God should be. We test and question him. We test and question his word. And he allows our questions, even welcomes them. We ask questions, and he answers, How do you read it? And then in response, wanting to justify ourselves, we think, “But that couldn’t be what you really meant.”

Wanting to justify our culture, we set aside the words we read and think, “This has to have meant something different.”

Wanting to soothe our consciences, we set aside God’s words and think, “Times have changed. Things are different now. This was for back then, not for us.”

Jesus, though, once again did not answer as the Pharisee expected. He didn’t justify the Pharisee; he challenged the ideas of the Pharisee even more, proving that his own viewpoint was even further removed from the Pharisee’s expectations than the Pharisee thought. Here’s the lead-up to the story:

On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
“What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?”
He answered, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.'”
“You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.”
But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” (Luke 10:25-29, NIV)

When Jesus responded, he told him the parable of the Good Samaritan. The Samaritan was the “hero” of the story, the one who acted as the true neighbor and set the example for others. The Samaritan, a person of a race the Jews despised because they weren’t “pure-blooded”—they had mixed racial heritage and no longer were privileged to consider themselves Jews. Jesus’ answer was simple: Don’t pick and choose who your neighbors are, loving selectively; you be the neighbor, you be the one who has mercy to those around you. If you are not acting as a neighbor, you are not loving your neighbors as yourselves.

No, I will not justify you. This is how it is.

This God, this Jesus, often did not and does not live up to people’s expectations. This God, this Jesus, often said and did things that people took offense to, that seemed radical to them—God wouldn’t do such a thing. God isn’t like that. But this God, this Jesus, has shown us what he is capable of. He has shown us what he is like, and told us what he is like. We can see this in the Bible.

How do you read it?

We may not want to believe it, we may not want to accept it. We may want to interpret God and Jesus according to our expectations. But that doesn’t change who he is.

The Bible doesn’t tell us how the Pharisee reacted to Jesus’ answer to his final question. The Pharisee had the knowledge, and had that knowledge affirmed by the Lord. He then was given the understanding—but what did he do with it? Did he reject it, thinking to himself, My God would never have me imitate a Samaritan? Did he walk away angry, dismissing the lesson God had just given him about himself and plot to kill the Messiah, since this Messiah did not live up to his expectations? Or did Jesus’ lesson sink into his heart, change the way he thought, and change the way he treated others?

We can know what the Bible says. We can have all the right answers. But we cannot twist what it says to justify ourselves. If we really, truly believe God is GOD and Jesus is LORD, then we must take him at what he says. We must trust him.

We must love him, not our idea of him.

This entry is longer, and different, from other entries. There isn’t a personal story illustrating it, going along with it, at least one that has been published. There is, however, an old personal story, one that spans decades and involves others—people I love, and people I can’t stand to hurt more by putting the story in writing for others to read. People who, long ago, decided that God couldn’t be who he said he was, couldn’t mean what he said, because it would not justify their own lifestyles. Oh—they believe in God, but the God of their own expectations, not the God of the Bible. And although I love them dearly, I was eventually forced by them to choose between supporting them or trusting God. I decided to trust God, and lost a dear friend as a result.

I say all of this now not to hurt, not to anger, but to illustrate in a tiny way how this type of situation may play out in someone’s life. How each of us will be confronted, at some point in our lives, to choose to believe God’s version of himself or our own, and how our choices will have consequences.

If you’d like to read about God by someone who knew so much more than me, I highly recommend Knowing God by J. I. Packer. It’s not an easy read (or listen—I bought it on Audible, but it may be available through your library’s audiobook offerings, as well), but well worth it.

Speaking of reading, I’m reading (listening, again!) to a great historical book right now called The Radium Girls by Kate Moore. I’ve somehow picked up a fascination for what I would call “historical science and technology” stories, and this is what I would put in the science history category. Kind-of. The book cover is linked to on the left, in my Instagram account.

Finally (I really have not gotten the “short is good” blog convention down! Sorry, if you’re still with me), I have to acknowledge that my Daily Blessings Menu entries (linked on the left) have slowed tremendously—last week I only wrote one entry! And if you were looking for it, the running club stuff (also on the left) has dwindled even further, having zero entries the past two weeks. Those are really just for practical reasons: Work has been crazy. Crazy as in, I got rid of 60 papers earlier this week and got 126 papers in Friday evening, and the majority of these are between five and eight pages. So while I plan to get back to those eventually, it may take a while.

(And no, I’m not getting paid to promote anything. Not books, not Audible, not Amazon. Just sharing!)

#Bible #Godsword #selfjustification #whoisGod #trust #belief #expectations #Jesus #God

How Dare He? But Wait…

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I had been grading papers for a few hours, for what feels like the umpteenth day in a row, when I got the email from my colleague. “How is the grading coming along? The students should get their papers back in time to help them on the next assignment.” Upon reading those words, the emotional response was immediate: anger. Resentment. How dare he?!?

I suppose I should backtrack and explain a bit. I teach writing—technical communication—in an engineering college, and what that means is that I’m the one teaching engineering students how to write reports. At my university, we do a lot of team teaching and this particular course is team-taught by engineering faculty—my colleague—and me. I’m responsible for grading sixty of the eighty students’ papers (one other person does the other twenty), and right now I’m muddling through individual reports that are between four and five pages each.

Have you ever tried to read sixty, four to five page research papers that are students’ first real attempt at technical communication? Yeah. Not easy. And because I want to be helpful, and the best opportunity I have to teach students on an individual basis is through the comments I make on their papers, each one takes me between half an hour and forty-five minutes.

Some more background: I have taught this particular course, with this particular colleague, four times in the past and two other times when he wasn’t teaching. And I recently realized that this is my eighteenth year teaching at the college level. Oh, and I have degrees in the teaching of writing and in technical communication, and some people even call me Dr. Rhonda in reference to my PhD (which I find a bit awkward and hilarious, but there it is). But when I read that email, I once again felt as if I were being scolded, judged, perceived as a graduate student who is just learning how to teach and grade and do all of the things. As if I can’t do my job without a reminder to do it, even worse, as if I can’t be trusted to know what my job is and to get it done. And that—that made me angry. (It still does.)

This time, though, after the immediate reaction, I caught myself. If I’m going to be fair, emails like this have been a regular occurrence with this particular colleague, not only with me but with people far older and more experienced than me. And this year he has been much better about sending them out, much better at resisting that urge to micromanage everything. This is the first time he’s sent out an email like this in a month—that’s an amazing record. So why was my immediate response anger and resentment?

Honestly, it’s because I am already upset with myself for not having the papers graded yet. While I know personally that I have been doing my best to catch up and keep up in this crazy, death-illness-and-snow-ridden semester, I also am disappointed with myself for not having caught up or kept up. And upon reading that email, I immediately wanted to be defensive, list every reason I don’t have the papers finished, justify myself, make myself look better in his eyes. And that’s just it: Even when I don’t feel good about myself—maybe especially when I don’t feel good about myself—I want to look good to other people, to have them respect me and not judge me. I want to feel better knowing other people think well of me. So many of my actions when it comes to work are motivated by this—by wanting others to think well of me. I have a hard time keeping the eternal perspective, the God perspective that goes like this:

Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ. (Col. 3:23-24, ESV)

I’m not quite sure how to keep the eternal perspective, but I know as I just read those words I had tears in my eyes. I am working for the Lord. The thought that he knows my heart, he knows my true efforts, he knows whether I’ve been working heartily or not, is a comfort. It’s also a motivation to keep going. To keep going when the work feels like drudgery, when everything that results from it feels like judgment or—even worse—indifference or active, intense dislike (on my students’ parts; engineers are not always enthusiastic about writing). And the thought that even when all I can seem to see and feel is the here and now, that something I am doing in the here and now may make an eternal difference—that is motivating. Because the one reward I really want, I long for, is to hear those lovely words of affirmation:

Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master. (Matt. 25:21, ESV)

Lord, let me be good. Let me be faithful. And let me keep going, keep working earnestly, and let me do it as for you and not for men. Help me to keep that eternal perspective.

#work #eternalperspective #workforthelord #anger #resentment #defensiveness #disappointment #faithfulness

What’s Coming Next…

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Can I just say—I am so excited for what God has done, and what he is about to do. The story I’m about to tell you is one of God’s faithfulness, one I haven’t told anyone. But it’s also a story that needs to be told.

In October 2015, our pastor gave a sermon titled “Joshua’s Farewell Speech.” It was one that touched my heart and drove me to pray. In the application section of the commentary for the sermon (the commentary consists of extensive notes our pastor has been giving us as we have studied the Bible together in a multi-year series called God With Us), our pastor wrote:

If you are the head of a household, you must set the spiritual direction of the home. Create the environment for others to experience the one, true God. Lead the family in Bible reading and prayer; participate fully in the work, worship and life of the Church; set the example of what it looks like to have a real relationship with the living God. Don’t let your family drift spiritually. Be like Joshua: point the way to loving and serving God!

This note broke my heart. As the wife and mother, I knew the place of spiritual head of the household belonged to my husband (as much as I sometimes wish otherwise—I have a control problem. But that’s for another post). But I also knew, deep in my heart, that he was not ready for that place. He couldn’t set the spiritual direction described in this note, because he wasn’t there himself. In the margins of the commentary, I wrote out a prayer that I kept between God and myself until this day: Lord, I pray you turn my husband into this man. Until then, I pray that you will give me the ability to do this for my family. Thank you. I love you.

When we pray a sincere prayer like this, and continue praying it, God moves. And God moved, in the most incredible way. One that constantly reminded me of this prayer, tested my resolve to keep praying it, and glorified—and continues to glorify—God.

Shortly after I began to pray this prayer, my husband began to experience what was never officially diagnosed, but only can be described as, panic attacks. Anxiety. A lot of it. What I can write here will not ever fully capture what he and I both went through as he struggled through it (nor would he want me to be able to), but I remember trying to run on the treadmill and instead ending up on my knees, sobbing, singing in worship and praying my heart out to God and pleading for this to help him, to change him, pleading for help and strength to get through it because I just. Couldn’t. Do. It. And amazingly, miraculously, gloriously, the deepest aches and changes that my husband experienced were spiritual. He turned to God for help and has never looked back.

Since then, so many things have changed. My husband got a leadership position at work and that freed up our time to join small groups. I started to serve in the production team at church and he followed within months. He began to hunger and thirst for knowledge and understanding of God’s word, and began taking classes, listening to and watching sermons online, and is now being discipled by one of the pastors in our church who takes the time out of his schedule each week to meet with my husband and one other man for a Bible study. He talks to his friends at work about God, the Bible, and prayer more than I ever have—to me, his approach to this seems fearless. I won’t pretend that things are perfect—they aren’t—but the way God has moved in and changed my husband’s life, and our lives, is amazing.

And I am excited to see what God is about to do. So. Excited! Our church recently rolled out a financial campaign to fund renovations that will allow us, at both of our church campuses, to better serve our community. It involves building renovations that will invite people in during the week—a playscape, coffee shop, an auditorium the city can use, better parking—and involves going out to reach more communities, in church plants and/or additional campuses. And they were asking for a two-year financial commitment to help support the campaign, which they’ve put a lot of prayer into. Two years of giving above and beyond what is normal for each family.

From the beginning, I have felt the pull to be part of this, to be all in. Financially, but also with my abilities if only there is a place for me in God’s plan. So I’ve been praying about how to make this work financially, and I’ve been convicted about the fact that when I spend money, I’m spending God’s money, not my own. And I’ve been working on being wiser in my spending. But I wasn’t sure what my husband would do. He’s in charge of the money—he has always been better with it than I have been—and he has been increasing our giving over the past couple of years without my prompting. This time, I did say we should give to the campaign but left how much up to him. He’s been worrying about it, but I just reminded him we need to be wise and pray, but also trust God to provide.

He surprised me, and God did too. This weekend was the weekend for commitments—and my husband, home sick with the flu (the real flu, although we all got immunized), gave me a number to write down and turn in. A number above and beyond what I had been thinking, one that surprised me even more given that he’s now worried about running out of vacation days within the next few weeks since he’s been off for his mom, for snow days, and for illness—a real worry for the man who worked 364 twelve-hour days the first year that I met him, and would rather save up his five weeks’ vacation so he can get paid for them at the end of the year than take the time off to rest or travel.

God is going to do amazing things these next few years. He’s just proven it to me by working—again—in my own heart and my husband’s. I can’t wait to see the many ways he moves going forward, even just in terms of helping us rely on him to meet this commitment. I can’t wait to see what’s next.

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I met my running goals for the week, and my friend and virtual running buddy worked on hers today, too! Get the latest running news through this week’s run-down and join my virtual running club by setting some goals of your own and being my virtual running buddy.

God’s blessings are too numerous to count, but that shouldn’t stop us from acknowledging them. You can read about the ones he’s brought to my attention this past week through the Daily Blessings Menu on the left.